


Teacher's Pet

by lovemarvel



Category: No Fandoms Apply
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemarvel/pseuds/lovemarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate high school. It's the worst thing that has ever existed. You also hate not having a boyfriend, wishing that your school had better, non-trashy, guys. There's absolutely nothing worse than getting up every morning knowing that you're going to spend your day in school... that is... until you meet Mr. Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacher's Pet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so briefly before you read this, just want to let you know that I only wrote this because ONE, there are NO good student/teacher fanfics out there and TWO, because there's a hot teacher at my school and imagining him in the place of "Mr. Clarke" is amazing. Also, I'm not guaranteeing this to be good because it really isn't- BUT it IS better than some of the others out there. <3  
> \- Sorry in advance for spelling or grammar issues that I might've not caught!!

High school sucks, you came up with that conclusion your freshman year- which was two years ago- so you were used to it by now. Walking in the same over-crowded hallways, dealing with people who obviously don’t know what deodorant is, and getting shit tons of homework each night on things you barely even understand half the time.

Ah yes, whatever genius came up with the saying _“It’s the best four years of your life!”_ , must’ve been high all the fucking time.

It’s the middle of April which you hate even more. It’s not that you’re naturally pessimistic, but that you really just hate that month. You never know what to wear because the weather will be bright and sunny one day, but cold and brutal the very next. Life is hell. Well, from what you’ve experienced so far. And what you’ve been told to expect in the adult world… Well, it doesn’t seem much better.

You arrive at school that morning and do your daily routine like every other hellish day at school. You honestly have no idea how you’ve even managed to survive this long. You head straight for your locker and pull out your lanyard which holds three keys: car, house, and school.

Upon opening your locker, you see that gross couple that clearly don’t know what PDA means. They would honestly bang right up against that locker if it wasn’t for the teachers who constantly yell at them. You would think that they would get sick of it, all the kissing and God-knows-what other disgusting things they do. In all honesty though, you are truthfully jealous. Jealous of the love and bond that they share.

Granted, the chick’s boyfriend wasn’t in any way hot, but hell, if you loved your boyfriend like that, you know that you’d want to bang him all the time too… But, that would never happen- not in high school at least. Everyone here was either fuckboys or gross sewer rats.

The day starts off just as normal as every other Tuesday does- long and boring. You sit in first period resting your chin on the palm of your hand while your English teacher reviews the information for what will be on your test tomorrow. Honestly, you’re probably just going to bullshit your way through it because, by tonight, you’ll be too “ _tired_ ” to study. You watch your teacher as she goes through her hour-long powerpoint but you don’t actually listen. No. Instead, like always, you think of other things. Better things.

Your mind first starts off thinking about that couple you saw earlier- the same couple you see every day because they always seem to spend their time loving one another right near your locker. You then think about every other couple you’ve seen around. It makes your heart ache deeply. You long for a boyfriend so much and it seems like words can’t even describe. All the loving things couples do together like leaving one another with hickeys or going on trips together- things you’ve never experienced but only dreamed or thought about on repeat.

Your friends joke with you the most about not dating anyone, though you could care less because, hey, if they want to go ahead and date some crusty white boy, then by all means, go ahead. Part of you is glad you aren’t dating anyone in high school because you actually have standards. You doubt that half the people you know even _have_ standards when it comes to dating.

You start thinking about all the things you’ve ever dreamed of doing with a boyfriend. All the concerts, parks, long road trips- it all seemed too perfect. Do people actually do those things or are they just in books and movies? Who even knows?

Your mind continues to wonder…

You think about sex more often than not when it comes to the thought of having a boyfriend. You think about morning sex, rough sex, first-time sex, shower sex- so many perfect opportunities to have sex. It’s not that you’re a nymphomaniac, but that you just have wanted a boyfriend for so long that these thoughts just build up over time. You can’t help it.

Kinks, so many. You think about how hot you find hickeys and/or biting. Not like the painful biting, but playful. Him running his hands through your hair or holding you gently while he takes care of your body. Kissing down your stomach and progressing further and further towards what he wants most. You also happen to find facial hair a turn-on as well. Not so much a decked out beard and mustache, but just the perfect amount of scruff around the jawline. You think it’s hot when they’re dominant- when they take control over the sex. And, one of the weirder ones, you hate admitting it to yourself, but you actually think older men are hotter- the daddy kink. This was the one thing you never told _anyone_.

Everyone at your school thinks that kink is disgusting and weird- so it’s something that you’ll keep to yourself for who knows how long. But when you hear the term, _love has no age_ , you think of it as the absolute truth. If there was someone you knew who was super hot and in their 30’s or 40’s, you would have no reason to turn them down.

If you didn’t have a boyfriend, having someone like a daddy would be the next best thing. Now putting all those kinks together, that was something you would never obtain. Nobody near here could match that to a _T_.

Who knew you could spend a whole hour on thinking about all of that- _you_ knew, that’s who. The bell rang and you, along with everyone else, grab your stuff and make your way out of the classroom to the next. While walking through the hallways you literally have to dodge out of the way three times because ignorant-ass people can’t seem to walk straight. Luckily, things lift up a bit when you meet up with a friend of yours.

“God, I honestly hate this.” You joke and both smile as you complain about the hallways, the people, the _everything_.

Thankfully you have second period with her so you walk to class together every day.

“Hey, I need to go to my locker first because I left my other binder in there.” your friend explains. You sigh and then scoff sarcastically, “Fine, I _guess_ I’ll come with.”

Your specialty is making everything sound like it’s a burden or struggle- a gift.

You think about it as you walk down the crowded stairs, “Wait, where actually is your locker?” you ask, not recollecting where it is. Your friend walks ahead of you and turns around as you reach the bottom of the stairs, “The art wing, remember?” She replies to you like you’re dumb- which you don’t deny. You remember as soon as she says “ _art”_.

See, it’s hard to remember these things because the school is large enough and so full of people that it’s easy to just forget sometimes. You soon are walking side by side together and know that you’re probably going to be late for class because the art hall is all the way at the other end of the school. However, the class is only geology, nothing _really_ important to you anyway. As you both make your way through the long halls and turns, there becomes less and less people, which is actually nice for a change. When people are in their classes and it’s just you in the hallway, it appears much bigger than it did before.

You finally arrive at her locker and you lean up against the locker next to hers as she reaches in for her binder, “Fuck,” She mumbles under her breath and you ask what’s wrong.

She looks at you, “My binder isn’t in here…”

“Well,” You think of how to respond, what to say, “did you leave it at your house?”

She shakes her head, “No, I didn’t even take my bag home yesterday.”

“What did you have last hour yesterday?” you ask, now hearing the bell ring. You figured you were going to be late anyway and just shrug to your friend, the both of you laugh lightly. She gestures to the room just vertical from them across the hall.

“I have design class. But I don’t…” Her voice faded and she thought about it for a few moments, “Oh!”

She sets off at a quick pace across the hall and you follow closely behind.

When you enter the art classroom, you immediately smell the scent of _art_ itself. You detect paint and clay mixed together along with, which sounds strange, but crayons also. Basically it’s like you took a whole bunch of different art supplies and shoved them up into someone’s nose- which shouldn’t be surprising- being in an _art_ classroom.

You’ve personally never been in this classroom, or any of the art rooms for that matter. It’s generally not something you ever found interesting or striking- though you never really attempted before. You feel awkward so stick to standing near the door of the room where the fumes aren’t as strong. You watch your friend walk over to where you assume she must sit in class and see her looking around in different areas. She then glances over at you, “Dude, I can’t find it.”

You shrug again, not knowing what else to suggest other than they should probably get to class. Just then, a man walks in, almost brushing up against you, and looks at your friend- and glances over at you.

“Ha,” he chuckles, “I bet you were looking for this?” You watch him walk over to his desk and pick up a solid black binder.

Your friend smiles and walks over to his desk to retrieve her lost item, “Yes! I accidentally left it in here yesterday.”

The teacher smiles and hands it back to your friend. At this point, while all that was going on, you were still staring at _him_ . How have you never seen him before? Ever. He was tall and thin with black hair that was short and fine cut… and… yes… he even had just the perfect amount of scruff that covered his lower cheeks and jaw. You honestly had to _force_ yourself to look away before he noticed. You walk over to your friend who’s still standing next to his desk, thanking him for keeping the binder.

“Shouldn’t you two be in class?” He looks at the both of you with raised eyebrows. Your friend nods as you just smile back.

“We were on our _way_ to class when she realized she needed her binder and then… yeah…” You don’t know what else to say so awkwardly end the sentence. Your friend nods and then asks if he could maybe write a pass for the two of you as a friendly gesture. You casually look around the room and try not to look at him again. You still can’t believe you haven’t seen him around before.

It’s not that he’s overly attractive like a model or something, but he _is_ hot- in your opinion. You’re sure if you told your friend, she would think you’re gross or nuts for thinking so. The reason you probably think he’s so hot is because all the people in your town that you’ve ever seen are uglies- This is something new.

He agrees to write you both passes and your friend thanks him again while you still remain smiling politely.

As he finishes writing your friend’s, he starts yours. He looks over and you make eye contact again. He has bluish-green eyes that you find extremely attractive and you almost forget your name when he asks for it. You give your name and he continues writing on the slip of paper. He then sets his pen down and hands your friend her note. He then glances at yours once more before handing it over to you.

You both say thank you and before your friend leaves the room, he says, “And don’t forget it again.”

Now that you both have passes, you don’t have to walk excessively fast to geology- which gives you time to casually bring up the design teacher, “Who was that?”

“My design teacher… who else would it have been?” Your friend looks at you after you asked that dumb question. You didn’t know how else to bring him up, though, at least that was a start.

“Who’s all in your class?” you ask, thinking up an idea.

“It fucking blows, there’s like no one good. I sit next to this weird-ass emo chick.”

You laugh at her response and then glance over at her, “Well, I have a study-hall last period… Maybe I could switch into it or something.” You made up that offer knowing that she would agree but really all you want is a class with that teacher.

“Oh God, yes. Do it, please. It will make my life so much better.” Like you assumed, your friend was all for the idea, “I mean, you might not like it, though. Mr. Clarke is a dick half the time.” she admitted.

_Mr. Clarke_. Oddly enough, you found that name to fit him perfectly. It was hot.

“Eh, who cares, it will be fun.” you state with a positive attitude.

Your friend nods and you smile to yourself. You feel like a terrible person for only taking the class for Mr. Clarke instead of taking it to spend time with your friend.

\-----

It was now Thursday, two days after you had made the decision to switch out of your study-hall and into Mr. Clarke’s design class. You weren’t really sure what to expect other than weird people like your friend had told you about. But what even was design? Did you paint or draw? Both?

You honestly didn’t care because after seeing Mr. Clarke, all you _really_ wanted was just to have an excuse to see more of him. Yesterday, you even went with your friend to her locker after school just in hopes of seeing him- sadly, you didn’t.

You now walk by yourself to the art hallway as it is the last period of the day. The hallways are full like always and as usual, it smells like ass. It honestly never changes. Whether people don’t take showers or they wear diapers and shit themselves- you will never know how/why people smell that bad in school. You turn right and you see Mr. Clarke’s room ahead of you from a distance away.

Having a class with him is honestly going to be a blessing. It will actually make you a tiny bit happier about going to school in the first place. As you get to his doorway, about to walk in, he comes out of nowhere, exiting the room. You awkwardly run into each other and you back up, moving out of the way for him, “Sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, “Ah, yes, I see you switched into this class for the semester.”

You nod, “Yeah… I thought it would be fun,” you lie.

“Well, your friend is in there, go take a seat.” He then looks away from you and continues to wherever he was going. He had a few papers with him so you assume he’s going to the copier room or something.

You continue walking into the room and you realize your heart rate had drastically picked up. You became so nervous when you ran into him, barely even knowing what to say. He seemed different than he did on Tuesday morning. Not only was he hot, but fuck, he was intimidating.

Your friend waves to you and you smile, walking over toward her, “Hey,” You greet her and sit across from her. You notice the black haired girl sitting next to her. She had heavy black eye makeup and you could hear the music she was listening to through her earbuds. It was actually kind of frightening. Your friend notices you looking at her and then you both smile, trying not to laugh. It’s mean to be judging her because you don’t know what her life is like, but on the other hand, she looks like a 13-year-old, _“It’s not a phase,”_ chick.

The bell rings and you look around the room at all the different people. God, your friend was right… You’ve never even seen half these people before. This class does suck. You see Mr. Clarke walk into the room with a stack of papers and he places them down on his desk, scanning the room while other people continue to talk or scroll on their phones. Mr. Clarke clears his throat and the room goes silent. At least you weren’t the only person who saw him as intimidating.

“Okay, today we’re starting something new.” You see him glance at you and then looks at others around the room while he starts explaining what the new project is going to be. He looks back over at you but instead of you, he’s looking at your friend, “Yes?” he calls on her.

You see that her hand is raised, “What if we aren’t done with the last project?” she questions.

You look back at Mr. Clarke, who looks somewhat disappointed while annoyed at the same time, “Well, I gave you a whole week for that and it really should’ve only taken about four days so now it’s your own responsibility to get it done on your own time.”

You now see what she meant- he is a dick. To be honest, you only think it makes him hotter for some reason. Your friend just scoffs under her breath and Mr. Clarke goes back to explaining.

You see him grab the papers that he had on his desk and he starts to pass them out to everyone. As he walks over to your table, he stares straight at you. He hands you three papers- one for you, your friend, and emo-girl. Then he just walks away back to his desk.

You give the two other pieces of paper out and then look at your own.

Drawing. You have to draw. And that’s not even the worst part. You have to draw a self-portrait. You literally have no skill whatsoever to do something like that. You just stare at the sheet of paper in your hand and tell yourself that this is _all_ worth it because of Mr. Clarke.

5 minutes later, he’s finished explaining the project and half the time you were listening, but the other half was you thinking about how good he looked in that long-sleeved black shirt. He really did look good today, fuck.

You see some people stand up from their table and walk over to a certain part of the room. Following along, you do the same and stand up.

“Excuse me, did I say your table?”

You turn red as the class looks at you and you realize he was dismissing by tables. You feel embarrassed and almost a bit angry for Mr. Clarke calling you out. Sure, you weren’t listening, but still. Art classes are supposed to be fun and chill, not cold and harsh. You just shrug it off and sit back down, looking at your friend and smiling, “Well shit.”

“Told you, he’s mean.” she whispers.

“ _Now_ your table.” You look away from your friend and see that he’s now talking towards you. You stand up like you previously had just done and walk over to where the other people had been. Just before you turn your back to Mr. Clarke, you see a small smile form from the corner of your eye and can feel his eyes on you.

Now you’re just confused because what the fuck?

Whatever. You follow your friend who was now at the counter and you reach for a sheet of white paper like everyone else had done. You were _so_ not thrilled for this project…

Mr. Clarke walks behind his desk and sits in his chair. You watch him intently and just think to yourself… you would let him fuck you. As terrible as it sounds, the more you seem to be around him, he seems to get even hotter- no matter how mean he is.

“Great, how am I supposed to do this?” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, looking down at the blank sheet of paper.

You see your friend shrug, which doesn’t help you. Nothing can help you. Your drawing is going to suck ass and there’s really nothing that can be done to prevent that. You’ve never even attempted at drawing before and now you were stuck with drawing a self-portrait of yourself. Nice. You don’t even know where to start…

“So like, do we just take a pic of ourselves and then use that to look at?” you ask as your friend puts her stuff away. She looks up at you with the all-too-common look like you’re stupid, “Dude, were you listening at all?” she laughs quietly, “He said to find like a school picture of you or something that you can draw a portrait off of.”

Yikes. You really _weren’t_ listening when he was explaining directions.

“Oh, and I expect you all to have a picture here by tomorrow.” Mr. Clarke informs the class and you just sigh again.

You now don’t know what to do. Everyone in the classroom is busy still finishing up their last project but you, just joining, don’t have any work. Maybe you should talk to Clarke about that? Part of you wants a reason to talk to him, but you also don’t want him to get angry with you.

As if he was reading your mind, you then hear your name being called over to his desk. Your friend looks up at you and you silently mouth “ _Fuck_ ” to her as you move your chair out and stand up. You turn around and see Mr. Clarke, still behind his desk, working on his computer. You start walking over toward him and he looks up from his computer upon your arrival.

“Yes?” you ask, trying to be polite as possible to get on his good side.

Him, not really noticing the effort to be polite, keeps a straight facial expression, “Okay so, because you just joined this class, you’re technically already a project behind. What do you want to do about that?”

You shrug, not really knowing _what to do about it_.

He clears his throat and then glances back at his computer before looking at you again. He’s pressing his knuckles against his lips leaning on his hand and you feel his eyes looking dead into yours. Your heart does the thing again and you don’t know what to say because it’s grown awkward between the two of you.

“Well, I was thinking that I’ll give you the sheet of directions and then you just can present it to me when you’re finished with it- sometime next week?”

You just nod and smile. You were hoping he would just mark you exempt from it as a whole but couldn’t really find the words to offer that option.

“Sure.”

He returns the smile and you feel your heart’s own beat.

“Okay, that’s all then.” He goes back to his computer and starts clicking and you leave his desk, heading back over to your table.

“What did he want?” your friend questions, not looking up from her project.

“I have to do this dumb project even though I just joined the class.” you complain.

Your friend looks up and then over your shoulder and back at you.

You furrow your eyebrows and follow her gaze to Mr. Clarke who was walking over towards you. Your friend goes back to her own project and Mr. Clarke kneels down next to you, handing you the directions sheet.

“Okay so basically what this is, is you drawing out a bunch of different things that represent you.” You look at him and then at the sheet of paper he just gave you. Holy Fuck. He smells so good. Like, _really_ good.

“For example, here’s mine,” He shows you a long sheet of white paper covered in different drawings, “I put a paintbrush and palette because that’s a common symbol of art- and I love art.”

You nod as you start to understand- it shouldn’t be too hard.

He leans closer into you and starts explaining the basic requirements off of the rubric. You literally feel in heaven compared to how you usually do in school. This will honestly make your whole semester better. Just knowing that you get to spend 45 minutes of your day with Mr. Clarke.

“Think you got it?” He looks at you and then back at the directions, still kneeling.

“Yeah,” you reply kindly, “thanks.”

“Great. So after school sometime next week you can present it to me once you’re finished.” He stands up, leaving the rubric and directions with you, along with the sheet of paper for drawing on.

“Dude, that sucks,” your friend whispers as she looks back up at you after Mr. Clarke was gone.

“What part?” you joke, not actually knowing what she was saying that in reply to.

“I would hate to actually have to present this shit to him… eesh.” She shudders and you just laugh, lowkey excited that you got to. It was going to just be you and him in his classroom.

\-----

_One week later_

It’s only been a week with you being in Mr. Clarke’s class and you really don’t know how you feel. You thought he was hot, then mean, _then_ just a dick, but at the same time, still hot. He acted almost bipolar-like towards you and it was just a mess. Sometimes he was nice and would give you an occasional smile in class- other times he wouldn’t even make eye contact with you or would yell at you for doing the smallest thing. The other day he even yelled at you for not paying attention when you were just leaning over to tie your shoe- then the day after that he made a joke with you about something you barely even remember.

It was confusing and dumb.

And it wasn’t just _you_ either, your friend also noticed. She brought up how he wasn’t like that to anyone else in the class and you agreed, wondering what the _fuck_ he had against you.

On top of that, him being hot made you just cooperate with everything. It was like you were stuck in a trance with him. He could do anything to you that would piss you off but you would probably never talk back. _Probably_.

However, something new that you found out about yourself was that the more you started drawing, the more you actually found it interesting. It’s relaxing and fun- though- you still sucked.

You had just started the self-portrait project the other day and found it to be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done. All you really had was the rough features like the placement of the eyes, nose, and mouth.

Today was the day you were staying after school with Mr. Clarke. You finally finished the project he gave you last week and were somewhat nervous to present it to him, not really knowing how he would react. At first you were excited and happy that it was going to just be you and him but now you were just nervous. It all depended on his mood- it was 50/50. He could either be happy and cute… or cold and vile.

It’s almost near the end of the day and you’re sitting in your seat, looking at the picture of you vs. the one you’re drawing. Yikes…

Luckily there was only 5 minutes left of class so instead of attempting to do more, you just stand up, deciding to put your drawing away for the day. You hold it in your hand and walk over to the shelf you usually set your stuff at.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat and you look over at him as you set down the self-portrait on the shelf.

“We still have five minutes left of class. What are you doing?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and just bite your lower lip, thinking of what to say, “I just… I dunno…”

Mr. Clarke just shakes his head disappointingly and then goes back to his computer. You’re pissed and now somewhat worried for how he’s going to act when you have to show him your project about you.

You don’t really feel like doing it if he’s going to be a douche.

As you walk back over to your seat, your friend is secretly on her phone and emo-girl is just staring off into space at who knows what. You aren’t the only person who isn’t doing their work- why are you the only one he ever calls out.

After a few minutes, the bell rings and everyone stands up with their stuff, ready to go home from their long day in hell.

“Good luck, man.” Your friend nudges your shoulder reassuringly and you just give her the facial expression of _“Help me”_ , to which she just chuckles and then begins to head out.

After the room is empty, you grab your done project with different drawings resembling you and you walk up to his desk. He looks up and then smiles, “Ah, are you ready?”

You nod and see that he now appears to be in a _good_ mood.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” Mr. Clarke backs away from his desktop computer and leans back in his chair, smiling.

You take a deep breath and, God, he looks so good. You basically say that every day, but you can’t help it. He looks so hot when he smiles, showing his perfectly white teeth. Daddy material. Right. There.

“Okay, so… Um, here I put a pair of earbuds because I like to listen to music… And I put this cat because I love cats.” you awkwardly laugh while talking. You look up from your project at Mr. Clarke. He’s smiling eagerly and your heart rate is picking up by the second. “I put this camera because I really like photography and these movie tickets because I really like movies.” You’re still smiling and feel embarrassed but better that Mr. Clarke isn’t acting mean.

You continue to talk him through the different drawings and your reason for having them. The whole time you’re doing so, you frequently look back and forth from your project and then to Clarke. You notice he is still smiling and biting at his thumbnail while you further explain. As you get near the end, you start to feel better and less stressed about it.

“Finally, I put this cute little plant because I really like plants.” You laugh again, not knowing how to explain further.

You hear him breathe a laugh out his nose and now at this point, you’re trying your actual hardest to not blush. You just keep laughing from the nerves and then lower the project, relieved that it’s over. You grab your stuff and then walk back to his desk.

“Very nice. I can take that off your hands now.” Mr. Clarke stands up and walks out from behind his desk, taking the project that you reach over towards him.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you look at him, “Thanks for letting me present it.” You thank him, not really knowing what else to say.

“No problem, I’m glad you did.”

You’re both still smiling and he walks you to his door. His hand isn’t really placed on your shoulder but more your back, which you know now that you’re blushing because of it.

You walk just outside his door and he grins, “I’m glad you joined this class.”

“I’m glad too.” you agree. You’re now wondering what is going on in his head because he’s really fucking you up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he leans against his doorway, “have a good night.”

You hold your binder and books close to your chest and nod, “Thanks, you too.”

\-----

You find yourself thinking about Clarke a _lot_ more often now. Instead of thinking about having a boyfriend in class, now it’s Mr. Clarke. You remember only a short week ago you had just seen him for the first time. You didn’t even think he was _that_ hot at first, but now, Jesus. You couldn’t tell what it was that made you like him more and more. Whether it be his attitude or maybe the fact that you’ve just never seen someone this hot in real life.

Who knew.

It was Friday now, thank God. You walk with your friend to design class. “I hope he’s not pissy today.” Your friend comments as you near the art hallway and you nod in agreement, “Tell me about it, sometimes he jokes around but then other times he hates us.”

“More like hates _you_.”

You jokingly glare at your friend but know she’s right, “Yeah, I have no idea what the deal is with him and me.”

“What do you mean?” your friend asks.

You shrug, not wanting to tell her about how he was acting yesterday when you showed him your project, “I just think he’s weird… Why is he mean and then nice to me?”

The both of you are now close to his room and your mood automatically lifts when you see him walk out. He does that. He will wait outside his room until the bell rings and then will close his door.

“Well, he looks in a good mood, I guess.” You try to stay assertive and you make eye contact with Mr. Clarke. You don’t smile but instead look away. When you make eye contact with Clarke it makes you feel different. It’s like you can feel his eyes reading everything about you- what you’re thinking, all your secrets or fantasies. Not only that, but it makes you forget everything around you. His eyes read you like a book and the world around you just becomes a blur as you let him scan you.

You are almost to his door and you don’t sense him staring anymore, thankfully.

“Good afternoon girls.” He gives you both a small smile and looks at you and then your friend. You smile in return and walk into his room.

The best part of your day starts now.

As class starts, you get to work on your self-portrait that you need desperate help with. You want to ask Mr. Clarke to help you but at the same time are too afraid. All you really want is to know what he thinks about you.

What does it mean when he stares the way he does towards you? What does it mean when he’s overly kind to you? What does it mean when he’s overly harsh on you? And more importantly, what does it _fucking_ mean when he has you present a project about yourself to him _alone_ while all the other people just had to turn theirs into the turn-in basket? You think back about how he was looking at you when you presented. He was so undeniably hot. The way he smiled or the way he laughed when you laughed. It was seriously messing with your head.

Does he like you? Does he think you’re annoying? Does he like-like you? Oh God, if that was the case you would _know_ God to be real.

For the next 40 minutes, you try so hard on your portrait to get your nose the way you want it. You’ve nearly used up all the eraser on your pencil from trying again and again. At this point, you just want to give up and throw the whole thing away. Tear it up and never attempt again.

By now class is almost over but you don’t even notice- so absorbed in trying to get this the way you want. You erase the whole thing once more and look at the picture you’re going off of. You take a deep breath and stare at the paper for a few moments. The project is due on Monday and you haven’t even started with any details yet. What makes it worse is that every now and then Clarke will like to walk around and observe where people are at and what progress they are making- it only makes you feel stupid when you’re at the same place you were four days ago.

Just as you readjust your pencil in your hand, about to start again, the bell rings.

You groan as your friend stands up. This time she’s the one that’s ready to leave and you are the one that _wants_ to stay behind.

“Nah it’s fine, you don’t have to wait. I don’t want you to miss your bus.” You look at your friend.

“You sure?” she asks, offering to wait.

You shake your head, “Yeah, no, it’s fine, go ahead.”

Your friend then just nods before she begins to leave the room, “See you later,” she calls before exiting.

The room is now empty except for you and Mr. Clarke. You stand up and decide to just bring your drawing home and work on it over the weekend. You hear Mr. Clarke’s chair move which means he’s standing up. Keeping your back turned, you try to ignore where he is or whether he’s coming over to you or not and just continue to gather your things.

“Hey,” Mr. Clarke now stands next to you with his hands on his hips. You move your hair from your face and reply cooly, “Hey.”

“So, I’ve noticed you’re having a bit of a struggle with some of the facial structures on your drawing.”

You nod admittingly, “Yes, and no matter how many times I try to get it right, I just can’t.” Talking with Mr. Clarke always feels like the first time- it gives you butterflies while mixing up your emotions at the same time. You feel a mixture of lust, angst, and fear all strangely twisted together. It’s different.

“I know it’s short notice but I’m staying after school for a bit so if you wanted some quick help with some of it...”

You don’t even have time to comprehend the whole meaning of the question before you’re nodding your head yes. This was a good thing. You got to spend extra time with Clarke while at the same time actually getting your work done.

“Okay, great.” he smiles and grabs a chair, pulling it up next to where you were sitting. You awkwardly sit back down and place your paper back on the table. He shifts his chair closer to you and your shoulders are just barely touching one another.

“I can’t draw noses.” you remark as you look over your drawing once more.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat and looks at you, “No, you can’t _not_ do anything. It just takes time and practice. Now here...” he takes your pencil which lay neglected next to your paper on the table. He leans in closer next to you and angles the paper in his direction.

“The reason you think it looks so wrong is because you haven't done the shading. That’s normal- you’re actually doing it right.”

You smile warmly and watch him as he starts to draw the basic structures of the nose. But instead of looking at the photograph for help, he looks up at you. You see him observing the different parts of your face and you blush, looking anywhere else but him.

You feel like he’s gotten too caught up in looking at you, forgetting that he was supposed to be helping you. As you make eye contact with him again, he clears his throat a second time and then looks back at the drawing.

“So, what you want to do is make this line structure just barely visible because you’ll be erasing that later.” He glances at you and then points to what he’s talking about on your paper. You nod, pretending to listen but instead being too caught up in him.

“Here, you try,” Clarke holds out the pencil and smiles, urging you to try it on your own. You take the pencil from his hand and then start to draw both sides of what the nose was going to be. You draw lightly and then pause, “Like that?”

Clarke nods, “Now this part is a little tricky, let me guide you through this,” He takes his hand and places it over yours. You shift in your seat but don’t move your hand. You can feel the beating of your heart through every part of your body.

He looks at you and you give him a small smile.

“You start off with drawing a light circle here, and then angle off a hook from each side.” With his hand still on yours, he shows you how to draw the basics of a nose. You slowly adjust your body closer to him as he takes your hand with his in the pencil.

A few minutes continue to pass and he’s helped you cover what you needed help with.

“There you have it, that’s the basis of the center facial area.” Mr. Clarke lets go of your hand and looks into your eyes again. This time, you don’t look away, but instead, remain looking at him.

What was this? Was this when you kiss? What the fuck- he was basically just holding your hand too. You knew it- this was more than him being _just_ a teacher. What do you do? You have no idea. Do you lean in or back away? Or nothing??

Your body is slowly moving closer to Mr. Clarke before your brain even has time to process. The atmosphere has changed. Instead of Clarke reading you, you can read him. He’s about to lean in, you know it. He’s hesitant. You stop moving, knowing this is wrong. What if he actually doesn’t have feelings for you?

“Well,” Clarke breaks the elongated silence and moves his chair back, standing up, “I hope that helped.”

You just stare at him for a few seconds, processing…

“Yeah, thanks,” you reply normally, trying to pretend the last 5 minutes never occurred.

“Good, I’m glad it did.” Clarke smiles and clearly, you assume he’s trying to ignore it too.

He then watches you gather your things and walks back over to his desk, sitting back down in his chair. You pick up your binder and books and then head over to the art shelves and place your drawing down, deciding not to take it home over the weekend.

You then turn around and start to head towards the door, your mind still caught up and replaying the moments from just previous. You were so close. _So_ fucking close. If you had leaned in just a little further, you _know_ he would’ve obliged and kissed you back. There was more to Mr. Clarke than you knew. There’s no way anyone would call staring at you the way he does _normal_.

Just before leaving his room, he looks at you, “See you Monday.” is all he says before you walk out.

Life was fucked up.

\-----

_Three weeks later_

You know, at first, you thought there was maybe something there… maybe. You hoped there was. The way Clarke treated you compared to everyone else was different- that was obvious enough. And then, it all changed after the day you stayed after school so he could help you with your self-portrait drawing. It was like he changed. Not a _good_ change either… He was now harsher than usual and he’s been the same for the past few weeks.

Instead of greeting you like he usually does before class, he now will just stare at you or do nothing at all. He doesn’t tell you to have a good night after school ends either. It was now even less of a fun class because he gave you the cold shoulder but honestly, even though he was a dick, you would still bang.

You never told anyone about that day after school. How close you came to actually having your first kiss be with a high school teacher. Now you didn’t know what was going on.

You sit in his class and rest your cheek on the palm of your hand while Mr. Clarke explains a new project to the class. He doesn’t even glance at you anymore in class… lame.

He starts handing out a sheet of paper that you need to fill out while he explains the next portion and you yawn, tired from the day that only seems to drag on and on. He hands you your three pieces of paper like usual and you hand the other two to your friend and then the other chick- who seems to now dial it down on the eye makeup now.

“Now…” He starts explaining something about different vocabulary words and writing down the meaning for each. You mask a yawn again and as he mentions the first vocab word on your sheet, you listen to him as he explains the definition. You begin to write down the answer and- just your luck, your lead breaks. You sigh and roll your eyes, standing up to go sharpen your pencil. As you walk over to the sharpener, you hear Mr. Clarke’s voice stop.

You look up and sure enough, _now_ he’s looking at you- along with the class.

“It’s rude to get up when I’m giving out important information.” Mr. Clarke crosses his arms.

This was enough. He’s so hot when he’s angry but you couldn’t just let him keep nagging at you for every little thing you did. You never thought you would be the one to talk back to a teacher, but here it went…

“My lead broke, I can’t write down _your_ words if _I_ don’t have lead.” You add a bit of sass to make yourself look bolder.

Clarke scowls and then raises his eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t be yelling at _me_ for going to sharpen my pencil when it’s for writing down something _you_ require us to do.” you restate, trying to sound independent and strong.

“Enough! I will not tolerate someone talking back to _me_ in _my_ classroom. Take your seat and I will speak with you after class.” Clarke raises his voice just to the point where it makes your blood run cold.

This time, you obey and still leadless, you and your pencil go sit down. You place your pencil down on the table and then look at your friend who is hiding a smile. It might be funny to her but you’re still a bit frightened.

The rest of that class period carries on and after Mr. Clarke finishes his lecture you finally stand to go sharpen your pencil. Unfortunately, the pencil sharpener happens to be right near his desk so it’s an awkward way up. He sees you coming up and you ignore him when he glances at you.

You finally get your pencil sharpened and then spend the rest of class copying down the answers to the vocab sheet. You’re dreading the fact that you have to stay after class and deal with Mr. Clarke and his bullshit attitude. It isn’t fair that you’re treated like this when you never did anything wrong. Things were going so well and then… fuck.

The bell rings like it does every other day and while everyone gathers their things and goes, you stand up, but just remain leaning back against your table.

“Prayin’ for you.” your friend whispers, walking past you.

She’s the last one out of the room and once she leaves, you see Mr. Clarke stand up, taking one last look at his computer. You hear him sigh and he looks straight across the room at you.

You honestly don’t know what to expect and try not to let his intimidating attitude get the best of you. He walks over to the door and looks out into the hallway before closing it. Clarke turns back around and then starts walking over to you. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it, but you love the way he walks. He was tall enough so that when he walked it was almost stride-like and you didn’t know why or how, but it was hot.

He stops at the table that was placed directly across from where you sat at yours. He leans back against it exactly like you’re doing.

He takes a deep breath and just keeps staring at you, “You won’t disobey me like that again in _my_ classroom. Do you understand?”

No matter how badly you want to just nod and agree, you don’t, “Why? Why are you so mean to me? I get that you have strict rules but that doesn’t mean you have to snap at every tiny thing I do. I don’t know what I did...”

“Stop.” he tries to interrupt you.

“No,” you barely give him time to even speak, “I honestly never did one thing to you. Plus, you’re an adult. You’re the older person. You don’t have to be such a dick, okay? Oh, and another thing, it wasn’t the end of the world when I got up to sharpen my pencil, so next time, don’t treat it that way.” You feel on fire now as everything you’ve wanted to tell him off on comes to light.

You see him stand up straight and he now looks furious. He starts walking closer towards you and you stop talking. Everything else you planned on saying leaves your mind as his presence now gives you goosebumps. You start backing up as he gets closer and closer.

You back up against the wall of the art room and Mr. Clarke has you cornered.

Holy fuck what is happening.

Clarke walks up to you and there’s a brief pause before he places his arm on the wall above you and your brain doesn’t have time to take in anything as his lips aggressively meet your own. You feel him lightly bite your lower lip and you don't realize how much you've wanted this until it all started happening at lightspeed.

He breaks away, giving you only a millisecond to breathe before kissing you again. You’re already out of breath as he sucks it out of you. You don’t know how to explain it but he’s being aggressive but gentle at the same time. While one arm is placed above you the other is now around your waist. He now starts to kiss and break and kiss and break. Your brain is finally caught up with the moment and you begin kissing back, leaning into him each time he breaks, wanting more.

“No… talking back… in… my… classroom…” Clarke says sporadically through each kiss. You want to say so many things but can’t even process the words into sentences at this point as you let Mr. Clark take over your whole system.

You want him. All of him.

Clarke moves in closer and you share the same breath. He moves his hands to your shoulders and he motions you to move with him. Still kissing, you both stumble into a separate, smaller, room.

“What… what is… this?” You stop for a moment while he still keeps kissing.

He breaks away for more than a second this time and looks at you and then in the room they’re in. “It’s where we keep the extra supplies.” He moves away from you for a short moment and closes the door, making the light leaking into the room slightly diminish. He walks back up to you and places his hands on your cheeks, stroking his thumbs across your skin.

You lean up and this time, it’s _you_ who kisses first. He doesn’t kiss you as aggressively as before but you find yourself pushed up against a wall again. He slides his tongue across your now-swollen lips and you smile against his, causing your mouth to open and allowing his tongue to slide in.

You feel him exploring your mouth and your blood is coursing through your veins- your heart pounding. There’s a giant knot in your stomach and just as you think it can’t get any more delirious, you feel him press against you. With your bodies touching, you feel the one thing that makes you weak. He’s got a hard-on- and it’s big too. You accidentally moan as you feel it press against your body. You hear him let out a low laugh and although you’ve never done this before and are completely inexperienced, you get the idea of what to do next.

Your hands move down to his pants and your fingers fumble as they try to undo the belt, buttons, and zipper. Finally, after managing to accomplish that simple task, his pants fall to the ground and Clarke starts tugging at your jeans. You refuse to look down, not wanting to see how big Clarke is- you already knew it was big enough from what you previously felt against you. He undoes your jeans and you help him slide them off.

“Have you?” Mr. Clarke pauses from what he was doing and looks you in the eyes. You swallow hard, shaking your head nervously, “But I want to… please” you reply quickly.

He doesn’t frown but it’s more of a cautious look, “Sweetheart, it’ll hurt. It’ll really hurt.”

At this point, anything is worth taking if it means he’ll be inside you. Actually inside you.

You nod your head, consenting, “I want to.” you repeat.

He pulls off his underwear and this time, you can’t refrain. You quickly take a glance below and look straight back up… horrified.

“Is that… it isn’t going to fit.” Your eyes have now grown wider and Clarke sees your fear. He moves the hair out of your face and tells you again that you don’t have to do this but you shake your head and say you want to.

You lean back against the wall and stare at the ceiling and Clarke moves his hands to the hem of your underwear, slowly sliding them down. You’re slightly embarrassed because you know they’re already wet but he just starts kissing you, reassuring you that it’s okay. That he’ll take care of you.

He moves from kissing your lips to kissing all over. He starts at your cheeks and moves down to your jaw and neck, slowly sucking. One of his arms moves above your head against the wall to give him more support while the other is slowly rubbing himself, prepping. You want to… but you’re too scared.

As if he reads your mind like he’s always been gifted with doing, he takes your hand in his, placing it over his dick. Your fingers wrap around his length and now feeling it, you’re even more scared that it won’t fit. He lets go of your hand, keeping it there, and continues to suck on your neck, leaving a hickey.

You start to stroke your hand over his dick, feeling it all around. You hear him groan and can feel your body pulsing.

“You’re so… perfect.” Mr. Clarke breathes heavily and then moves his large hand back over yours, taking it off his dick. He’s now rock hard and lets go of your hand, tracing his long fingers down your hips. Your nipples are hard through your shirt and you bite your lip hard to refrain from accidentally moaning again.

You feel his fingers move their way in between your legs and you reposition, giving him just enough room.

Without any warning, he slips two fingers inside of you and you let out a small moan, not expecting it. Clarke stops kissing your neck and moves back to your lips, keeping your mouth quiet. He moves his hands back and forth and then slowly slips in a third, working to scissor, “Holy fuck,” he whispers, “you’re tight, baby.” You don’t really know how to take that and you just look into his eyes and he laughs again, “It’s a good thing,” he looks at you for a few seconds, “God, let me care for you.”

He starts moving his hands inside of you again and starts kissing you before you can let another moan escape from your mouth.

He slips out his fingers and then places his hand around his dick again, moving it up into place.

You gasp as you feel his tip at your entrance.

Mr. Clarke moves his hand that was holding him against the wall to your face and rubs your cheek again, “Are you sure you’re ready?” he questions one more time.

You nod, not really sure at all, “Yes.”

He warns you again that it’s gonna hurt more than anything.

“I’ll go slow.”

He presses a little further into your entrance and then moves both hands into new positions. One, the same place it was before, above your head for better stability and the other hand gently holds the side of your face in his palm.

It all happens so slowly but so fast at the same time.

The pain hits you like an ongoing train as his dick slowly enters your body. Clarke starts kissing you again, helping take your mind off the pain. Tears fall from your face and he momentarily breaks away, “No sweetie, don’t cry…” He takes his hand off your cheek and wipes away your tears before he goes back to your swollen lips.

He fully enters your body and he stays there for a few seconds and just holds you, letting the pain sink in and fade. You let him continue to wipe away the tears from your face and you grasp your hands around his arms.

“Honey, you’re doing so good. _So_ good.”

He then slowly pulls out and you feel cold as he leaves your body. The coldness doesn’t last as he enters your body again and you try not to cry out as few tears slip down your face again. Just like before, he begins kissing you, helping to sooth you.

This happens on repeat and the more he goes in and pulls out, the more adjusted your body becomes. He starts to slowly pick up his pace and while it still hurts, it isn’t as bad as before. He pulls out and then in again. As he slides in this time, while kissing, you accidentally bite down on his lip, drawing blood. You feel bad but he only just smiles against your lips, licking his own and cleaning off the irony taste.

You let him gradually keep picking up his pace and you can’t help now but let out moans each time. Clarke kisses down your neck and pulls at your shirt, sucking and biting at your collarbone. To prevent you both from getting caught, as he slides in again, he covers your mouth with his hand.

Clarke gradually starts going harder and faster and the pain returns but you no longer cry and instead your body seems welcoming of it now.

Suddenly, Clarke hits it. What you’ve only _heard_ about before… he hit the g-spot. It’s real. Your eyes grow wide and you forget how to breathe. He laughs and knows exactly what he did, hoping he would find it sooner or later. You honestly think Mr. Clarke must be God himself because right now all the pieces fit. He is perfect in everything he does.

He grins at you as he maintains hitting that same spot, causing you to uncontrollably start whimpering and moaning. Clarke lifts his hand over your mouth again, giving you the warning that these are thinner walls and being too loud could cause someone to hear.

Your bodies move as one and you start feeling a strange burning sensation which immediately courses through every inch of your body. You don’t know what’s happening or how to make it stop, but you feel your muscles lock and before you can even take control, it overpowers you and you orgasm.

Your first time having sex and you _fucking_ orgasm…

“You just… Uh-” Clarke doesn’t finish his sentence before he comes, filling you with the hot and sticky substance. His breathing is still heavy while yours, disheveled. You take big breaths, then short. Your brain is buzzing and you feel like your whole body is still strongly pulsing- like you were just on a major high while being drunk at the same time.

Clarke pulls out and then presses his forehead to yours, “I can’t believe you did that. Sweetheart, You were great.” He does that quiet laugh again and you just smile while trying to even out your breathing pattern. He kisses your forehead once before pressing them together again.

Yes, this was your first time and you were proud that you impressed Clarke. And though it was your first, it definitely wasn’t going to be the last, either… well hopefully

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it... and sorry again for any errors!!


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